


Oblivion

by deliver_the_light



Category: the underland chronicles
Genre: Gen, I KNOW you asked for a Gen fic, TUC Fic Exchange 2014, VERY slight Gregor/Luxa, but it's set right at the end of CoC so it's kinda just implied instead of the focal point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliver_the_light/pseuds/deliver_the_light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My arms are slowing, my muscles shaking in pain and grief. The crackling of bone and ooze of flesh is slowly melting away into dreaded silence. I hate myself for it, for the defeat. </p><p>I sink back and let the tears finally fall. What will I tell his mother? His sisters? What will I tell Luxa? His blood is on my hands, a stain that will linger in our history for all of eternity. </p><p>What have we done?"</p><p>Howard's POV CoC final battle recovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> TUC Fic Exchange 2014 for Haveatacopie  
> Prompt:“PJO/TUC crossover- Gregor and his family are legacies”  
> Okay so I have to warn you- I've only read the first series of PJO and /part/ of the second one. And it's been a while. And I had to use wikipedia for a lot of this stuff.  
> But it was a really interesting prompt, so I tried to make it work!!
> 
> Rating it T for Gore at the beginning.
> 
> Takes place at the end of CoC during the two weeks that Gregor is unconscious. There are probably tons of errors as I didn't get this beta'd and I'm horrible at editing my own work.  
> BUT- Merry Christmas anyway! If you don't celebrate Christmas then Merry whateveryoucelebrate!

 

-Fourteen-Fifteen-Sixteen-Seventeen-

It’s the most horrifying thing that I’ve ever felt- the loose flaps of skin shifting beneath my palms as I struggle to return his heartbeat. The blood, hot and thick, squishes between my fingers with each push, the muscles no longer held in place and bones creaking with the pressure.

 

Please…. please…. please… I am begging him to breathe again with every fiber of my being. The child beneath my hands is still and quiet, his face paler than I’ve ever seen it.

 

“Howard…” I can hear Phillip’s hoarse voice by my shoulder, stifled with sadness and weary from days without rest. The dead are piling up around us, but I can’t stop. I can’t let him go. My it be my folly, but I had held onto hope. I had allowed myself to believe that this wouldn’t happen- that he would somehow survive. That somehow there would be another interpretation- a way out of this horrible fate. 

 

I have not prayed in so long… would they even listen now?

 

“Howard… the Warrior is dead.” I hear as I put my mouth over the boy’s, blowing more forcefully than I should. I’m gasping and shaking as I replace my hands on his still chest, starting compressions again. I can taste his blood in my mouth and it’s everywhere. Splattered all over me, coating my hands to the wrists, dripping from my hair, staining my cheeks like tears.

 

 A hand. Grasping my shoulder. I shrug it off and keep working over the dead child beneath me. The hand returns.

“STOP IT!” I command, hoping that my voice carries through the tears threatening to choke me.

 

“Leave him…” I hear Doctor Himmick say, “there are others to treat.”

 

No! They can’t leave! I’ll need them when his heart begins to beat again, when the blood begins to pour from his body…

“PHILLIP!” I cry, but can’t turn from my task.

 

_…Apollo, guide my hands…_

-Twenty-three-Twenty-four-Twenty-Five-Twenty-Six-

I pound the constant rhythm in to Gregor’s chest, feeling his ribs cracking beneath my desperate hands.

One more breath, one more round of compressions, two more breaths, check for a pulse.

-Four-Five-Six-Seven-Eight-Nine-Ten-Eleven-Twelve-

 

“COME ON!” I scream at the lifeless form under my hands, “GREGOR PLEASE!”

 

The others have given up, taken the word of a man that’s been rotting for nearly 500 years and left this child to die. I can’t leave him here like this. Ripped open and bare for the world to see.

 

There will be songs of his courage. Of his sacrifice. Over time they will change his story- no one will see him, as he wanted to be seen. They will not remember him as a child, but as the Warrior and for some reason, that’s the most heartbreaking thing of all.

 

But he is gone. This is an empty shell, all traces of the hopeful, loving boy gone and covered in gore.

 

My arms are slowing, my muscles shaking in pain and grief. The crackling of bone and ooze of flesh is slowly melting away into dreaded silence. I hate myself for it, for the defeat.

  
I sink back and let the tears finally fall. What will I tell his mother? His sisters? What will I tell Luxa? His blood is on my hands, a stain that will linger in our history for all of eternity.

 

What have we done?

 

“I… I am s-sorry.” The words tumble from my trembling lips, “…I am so sorry…”, and I know there is nothing more to say.

 

The rattle of breath is so quiet, that at first I don’t understand what I’ve heard. But it is followed by a spluttering wheeze and I find myself screaming for assistance.

It is as if he were reanimated by a jolt of power, the blood gushing fresh from his wound and body jerking back into the world of the living.

 

I help him clear his airway as the medics arrive, turning his head as the blood chokes him, and for one giddy moment I grin.

 

The Warrior is alive.

 

_-_-_-_-_-_

 

There are 237 stitches in his chest by the time we’re done. Many of them are internal, but there are five lines of clean knots holding his body in place.

 

The ride from the battleground was brutal, the thick bandaging keeping him together was drenched by the time we arrived in the High Hall. There were many moments that I was sure his heart would cease beating, but it held fast, pounding the remaining blood through his still body. His arms and legs felt like ice, his body using all of its resources to keep his vital organs functioning. By the time we got into the operating room he was as pale as a sheet and as still as the dead.

  
He was immediately given blood and a medicine to stimulate his body to produce more of it naturally. Then the bandages came off- a few inches at a time and the large gashes along his front were slowly closed.

 

I don’t even remember the end of the surgery. At that point I must have been awake for… three days? Maybe four… looking back I’m not even sure. I was relieved of duty and found a corner in the resting room for students; curling up until I was shaken awake to relieve someone else.

 

I went to check on Gregor and wasn’t surprised to find Luxa by his side. She told me that a letter had been sent to her father and that he should arrive soon. She also caught me up on what had been happening at the war front. Apparently Gregor’s defeat of the Bane had systematically ruined the gnawers’ plan. The initial battle had ended rather quickly after the Bane died, and there had only been minor skirmishes as the rats retreated. So far, none of the gods had intervened to hinder or help.

 

I wasn’t sure if the silence should reassure me of our victory or of our impending doom. Surely they would be here soon to collect tribute, offer wisdom or secure peace. Even in wars that didn’t involve their direct descendants, they have often chosen to become involved in them.

 

And the legendary Bane, the beast of the Titans, had just been defeated by a descendant of Hephaestus. Surely that would have garnered the attention of Olympus.

 

But they were silent.

 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_

The first night he lost his heartbeat twice. Both times the compressions ripped the stiches in places and had to be replaced. I stayed near his room as Luxa kept vigil, though I encouraged her to sleep. I knew that she wouldn’t.

 

After the second round of compressions, Doctor Attica assigned me and another doctor directly to his care. I figured that the amount of wounded soldiers was dwindling and so we spent shifts watching the warrior, who had yet shown signs of waking. We kept him on a strict regime of pain management medicines, but avoided ones intended to suspend consciousness.

 

We set up a fire in his room and began making offering to his Grandfather and to Apollo every hour. The nectar we had in supply was already long gone, and without their interference I feared… I had doubts that he would make it.

_-_-_-_-_

 

It was during the third day of his recovery that his father arrived. He took one look at his son and began praying to his father for guidance.

 

We left him alone to his vigil.

 

_-_-_-_-_

It wasn’t until 6 days after we brought him to the hospital that we heard from Olympus. They sent us more Ambrosia and Nectar and wished us luck with our treaties.

 

Luxa, of course, was not happy with their decision to remain distant. She felt that they were ignoring us when we needed guidance. When I suggested that their observant nature should reassure her of their trust in her decisions she snapped at me and sulked for hours.

 

It must be hard for her, running this entire nation. And she absolutely refused to contact her great-great-great-grandmother for guidance. She wouldn’t ever say it out loud, but I can see it in the way she carries herself that she wants to shake her ties with Aphrodite. The goddess of love. It’s almost ironic that in her plight to be her own person, she’s almost lost everyone that she loves.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

 

It isn’t until the 9th day that Gregor starts showing improvement. The ambrosia and nectar helped heal his wounds and four days after they are administered he begins to stir. His eyes open and he stares listlessly at the ceiling above him. He still does not respond to noise or stimuli, but with each passing day we are growing hopeful that he will start to know we are here.

 

_-_-_-_-_-_

The 11th day brings a fever so harsh that it sends convulsions through his body and nightmares to his dreams. He screams and thrashes for hours, finally weakening again and falling into silence.

 

More ambrosia. More offerings.

_-_-_-_

 

On the 12th day he sets his sheets on fire with his fingertips. We have to wrap them in cold bandages to keep them from heating up. His father did not receive this gift from Hephaestus and doesn’t know any more than we do about controlling it.

 

His fever hasn’t broken and I fear that it will claim him. He hasn’t opened his eyes in two days.

 

_-_-_-_-_

The 14th day is long- Gregor’s fever broke sometime in the night and Doctor Attica informs me that the stiches on his chest will need to come out soon. The ambrosia and nectar have done their job on him physically- but we’re still hoping that he will come back to us mentally. I don’t know what we’ll do if he doesn’t.

I sat vigil with him that night- I talk to him for hours hoping that my words will make their way into the fog that is holding him and lead him out of it. Luxa relieves me at dawn, piling redrafts of the treaty on his legs and stacking books on political surrender on the table by the bed. She reassures me that she’s fine, but I’ve never seen her look more tired in my life.

 

_-_-_-_-_

 

Boots gives me a cookie as she, Lizzie and their Dad come to visit. The girls stay sometimes, but it’s hard to keep that toddler entertained in a boring hospital room for long periods of time. I don’t know if she understands why Gregor isn’t waking up, because she keeps hovering over him- attempting to push bites of cookie into his mouth.

 

I’m watching her amused as she takes bites of the large treat and breaks off pieces to try and slip to her brother. They usually end up right back in her mouth as she is unsuccessful in her task.

 

And then with a jolt I realize that Gregor’s eyes are open and that he’s looking at her- not just staring blankly, but focusing on her face as she showers him with cookie crumbs. He blinks in discomfort, his brows drawing together and I barely dare to breathe as he then begins to look around the room.

  
His dad is talking to him, but I can barely hear over the excited rush of blood through my ears.

 

 _Thank you,_ I pray to no one in particular. It’s truly meant for all of them.

 

I grin and walk into the room.

 

The Warrior is Alive.


End file.
